Women must weep By Prof. F. Harald Williams [i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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THE DIVINE COMMISSION. |
 | Women must weep |  |
THE DIVINE COMMISSION.
In the love of the risen Saviour rise,
In the name of the Living Lord,
With the might of His mercy calm and wise,
And put on the soldier's sword;
Thou must cut the victim's cord,
Thou must be to the blind and stumbling, eyes,
And reveal to the sad the laughing skies,
Which a lamp to all afford,
And their roses blue accord
To the meanest wretch, nor yet despise
The tottering step that death defies,
If it may but be restored.
In the name of the Living Lord,
With the might of His mercy calm and wise,
And put on the soldier's sword;
Thou must cut the victim's cord,
Thou must be to the blind and stumbling, eyes,
And reveal to the sad the laughing skies,
Which a lamp to all afford,
And their roses blue accord
To the meanest wretch, nor yet despise
The tottering step that death defies,
If it may but be restored.
In the grace of the suffering Saviour go,
Baptised in the wounds that bled,
In the tears that from His human woe
He has so Divinely shed;
To the sinners lust has wed,
And the passion ravening to and fro,
As its waves of doom devouring flow,
On the pathway He has led;
For He stood by the corpse's bed,
And across the deluge stretched His bow—
Yea, He stands by the sorrowing now as low,
He remains when hope has fled.
Baptised in the wounds that bled,
In the tears that from His human woe
He has so Divinely shed;
To the sinners lust has wed,
And the passion ravening to and fro,
As its waves of doom devouring flow,
On the pathway He has led;
For He stood by the corpse's bed,
And across the deluge stretched His bow—
Yea, He stands by the sorrowing now as low,
He remains when hope has fled.
In the gifts of the healing Saviour hark
To the cry that never stays—
That goes up in its anguish from the dark,
And makes dim the sweetest days;
He has trod those dreadful ways,
With the nameless sights we dare not mark,
Though they fringe the palace and the park,
And intrude on feasting's rays;
For, behold, thy sister prays—
Not for pity that denies its ark,
But will heed the petted lap-dog's bark,
And be deaf to crime that slays.
To the cry that never stays—
That goes up in its anguish from the dark,
And makes dim the sweetest days;
He has trod those dreadful ways,
With the nameless sights we dare not mark,
2
And intrude on feasting's rays;
For, behold, thy sister prays—
Not for pity that denies its ark,
But will heed the petted lap-dog's bark,
And be deaf to crime that slays.
In the strength of the conquering Saviour fight,
For the battle rages yet,
In the cause of holy heavenly right,
Though the hosts of hell have met;
For the wither'd cheeks are wet,
And the backs are broken in the plight
Which has dragged them helpless thro' the night,
In which every star is set;
For the bosoms heave and fret,
That the brows may still again be bright,
In the life of Love's transforming light,
When the dead their graves forget.
For the battle rages yet,
In the cause of holy heavenly right,
Though the hosts of hell have met;
For the wither'd cheeks are wet,
And the backs are broken in the plight
Which has dragged them helpless thro' the night,
In which every star is set;
For the bosoms heave and fret,
That the brows may still again be bright,
In the life of Love's transforming light,
When the dead their graves forget.
| Women must weep | |